Take no Umbridge II: The Serious Side
by Stephen Ratliff
Summary: A companion to Take no Umbridge I, covering events in the first story until the end of the school year in a more serious angle, as Harry Potter takes over the job of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.
1. Encounter with Marchbanks

Take no Umbridge II: The Serious Side

Chapter Revision Version 2.0

_**Author's Note**_

_During the writing of _Take no Umbridge I_, often there was discussion of what it would actually mean for Harry to take over teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts in his fifth year, given the events I had already created. This story is the serious side of that story._

_In this story, it is my intention to handle the serious implications of the events in_ Take no Umbridge I _and continue on until the end of the year. It shall cover such questions as how it effects Harry's relationships with his classmates and romantic attempts. It will cover how it effects Voldemort's plans as well. _

_It should be noted, however, that _Take no Umbridge II _is not a priority story. Right now the muse is much more focused on _Honor to Serve _and _Ritually Yours_. However, the muse often likes to spread her wings a bit, which is why you may see bits of this as well as _Ranma: a Little Ealier_, _Defiance_, _Remember the Maine_, and another new _Harry Potter _story, _Remuneration for Services_, over the next few weeks._

_**Revision Author's Note:**_

_This story is currently being revised by adding 1-2 scenes to each of the first five chapters. This will allow the introduction of some missing pieces to the story. Future new chapters will be 2-3 scenes. Revised chapters will have a revision note._

* * *

**Encounter with Marchbanks**

The first morning at Hogwarts his fifth year, Harry Potter found an old lady waiting for him at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. One of the bench sections has been removed and replaced with a rather comfortable looking chair. The old lady seated in it seemed to project an air of importance and regalness. If Harry hadn't been aware of what the Queen and the Queen Mother looked like, he would have immediately assumed she was from that line.

"Mister Potter, please take this seat," the old lady said, pointing to the one across from her, before she picked up a muffin to butter. It appeared to be a blueberry one. "I am Griselda Marchbanks, head of the Wizarding Exam Authority."

Harry took the seat, and found that his plate was immediately filled with bacon, eggs, and sausage. "Thank you, Mrs. Marchbanks."

"Eat boy, you need to put some meat on those bones," Marchbanks ordered. "I will not have it said that my discussion with you left you bereft of substance today. Much of what I say to you today is informative only, anyway."

Harry nodded, digging into his breakfast. It was a bit more than he'd usually put on his plate, especially this early in the year, but Hogwarts food was too good to waste.

"Potter, as the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, indeed, even as just one of the champions, you are entitled to set your own scheduled for your NEWTs. As the winner, you are entitled to chose one NEWT to receive an Outstanding in, with my concurrence as to your performance meeting it. Having spoken to Albus, and your other teachers, I would be willing to issue this Outstanding, on order of preference, for Defense Against the Dark Arts, based on your various encounters with You-Know-Who; Charms, based on the first task; and Transfiguration, based on Professor McGonagall's recommendation.

"As am less than satisfied with the compentence of the ... I shall not dignify one who only got an acceptable OWL and no NEWT in the subject with the title, one teaching Defense this year, I have a personal wish that you chose that subject, if only to keep you out of the pain's classroom."

Harry paused for just a moment, a sausage halfway to his mouth. Hermione had stated that Professor Umbridge's speech meant that the Ministry was interfering with Hogwarts. Madam Marchbanks, though, she was against Umbridge, it seemed. Perhaps it wasn't the whole ministry, but part of it. He'd have to think on that. The articles in the Prophet had apparently been anti-Dumbledore on the Ministry's advice, so it had to be extensive. He chewed the sausage, thinking.

"Madam Marchbanks, does that mean that I wouldn't have to take Defense if I had my NEWT in it?" Harry asked.

"Yes, as you complete your NEWTs, you would also complete your Hogwarts classes in that subject," Marchbanks said. "I am at your service in the matter, should you chose to ask for early testing in any subject."

"How long do I have to decide?" Harry asked.

"Indefinitely, though I would prefer a decision within the next couple weeks on your chosen NEWT," Marchbanks replied, finishing her muffin.

This was not something Harry wished to rush into. Being friends with Hermione Granger had taught him that classes were important, and this would cause him to effectively get out of a class free. Signs were not looking good about this year's Defense class. Then again, given his first four, all of which had been involved in his yearly dose of mortal peril. He was sure that if he had a hand on Mrs. Weasley's clock, he'd drive Ron's mother insane with worry. Still, it couldn't be four out of five, his odds couldn't be that bad. One class, at least, he decided.

"I'll owl you later this week," Harry said firmly.

"I shall await your correspondence, then, Mr. Potter." Madam Marchbanks pushed back her chair and stood with surprising agility. Stepping away, she reversed her transfiguration of the bench section. "I always thought you should have chairs instead of the bench." She shook her head at the standard bench. "Oh, and Mr. Potter, Dolores Umbridge doesn't know why I'm here. Let us surprise her, later."

"Yes ma'am," Harry said. "Thank you for coming to talk to me."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Potter. Do finish your breakfast. As I said, I do not wish to be an excuse for a growing boy's hunger." With a swirl of her skirts, Madam Marchbanks left the Great Hall.

Harry was down to a single piece of bacon by the time Professor Umbridge arrived. He nibbled on it as he watched the woman in her pink cardigan and matching gray skirt took her seat at the head table. Hermione may have thought Umbridge was at Hogwarts to interfere on behalf of the Ministry, but that was not the focus of his examination.

Quirrell had been nervous, and rarely looked at Harry, and when he did, he immediately looked away. Lockhart had been a pampered fool, who always seemed to be checking how he looked. Lupin had been pensive, and near the full moon had picked at his breakfast. Moody, or Crouch as he really was, always seemed to be staring at Harry.

Umbridge seemed to be a mix of Lockhart's checking of looks, and Quirrell's look and then look away. This did not bode well. Any similarity to any of his former Defense Professors, save Lupin, was worrisome to Harry. Of course each of them had found a different way to threaten Harry's life. Harry found himself a bit fatalistic about them. Somewhere, somehow, this professor would try to ruin Harry's life again, he was sure.

* * *

Ginny Weasley was late for breakfast. She'd spent a longer time than usual in the bathroom, trying to avoid her roommates. She wished that her roommates would get their mind off the idea that Harry Potter was some hero wanting to carry them off into the sunset. Probably on a white horse, if not a hippogriff, Ginny judged.

Not that Harry wasn't a hero, known for rescuing damsels in distress. Some would have put Ginny in that category. Ginny would not. Oh it was a nice little dream, one that she'd had no few fantasies about, back before she'd needed rescuing. It was a dream that you didn't want to live though.

There were many reasons for that. First of all, you had to get in trouble for Harry to rescue you. Hermione had been rescued by him first, from a troll. An umpteen feet tall troll who apparently thought that bathrooms were for smashing. Then there had been her own trouble.

Ginny had been stupid. There was no other word for it, though Ginny had tried to find one. She'd had known better than to write in that diary. As her father had told her, she should have never trusted something that she couldn't see where it was coming from. She had poured her soul out to Tom Riddle, the bastard. According to Harry, she'd almost powered Voldemort's rebirth.

That news had made her feel so unclean. It had taken months for her to get rid of that feeling. Her brother Bill had joked that she was planning on using up the whole Nile. Bill and Ron were the only two of her brothers who knew the full story of her first year. Ron because he was there, and wouldn't let her alone. Bill because ... well because he was Bill.

Ginny never could categorize what her eldest brother was to her. He was so different. He was the adventurer, he was the one who knew everything. He was there for her, yet he was also so far away. She trusted him. So when he'd concluded that she'd been possessed by the severed soul of Voldemort, she'd never quite caught the word he called it, it hadn't helped her need to get clean. She'd actually rubbed herself raw.

It wasn't until she'd gotten to ride the hippogriff that she'd stopped feeling dirty. She suspected Charlie's involvement in Hagrid asking her to stop by his hut during her second year. It was Hagrid who finally got through to her that she wasn't the person responsible for the events of her first year. He never actually brought it up, but that afternoon when he'd had Ron and Harry show her how to approach a hippogriff ... that afternoon where she'd gotten to fly over Hogwarts. She had to agree with Harry that it was a most freeing feeling. And that feeling, the wind in her hair, the sensation of her clothes pushed against her body as they soared, it seemed to magically erase much of the tainted feeling.

Not that she didn't have a few relapses. But that was what borrowing the brooms of your brothers was for ... and occasionally Harry's Firebolt, though once her roommates had heard of that, she thought that she'd never escape the innuendo.

If she heard another one of her besotted roommates joke about her ride on Harry's broom again... He was practically another brother now. According to Neville, Harry had even given the big brother threat to him when Neville was her date at the Yule Ball. Ginny strongly suspected that Ron had been the one to encourage Harry to do that.

Her thoughts having carried her all the way from Gryffindor Tower to the threshold of the Great Hall, Ginny looked up to find a free seat next to someone she at least knew, and wasn't one of her annoying roommates. There was only one choice, really. "Good Morning Harry," she said as she sat down across from him. It looked like he had just refilled his plate. "Hungry this morning?"

"It's the first day back, and Hogwarts food is always good," Harry replied. "Roommates annoying you again this year?"

"Yes, for the same reasons as last year," Ginny replied, loading up her own plate with scrambled eggs and toast.

"I thought so," Harry said. "One of them asked me if you were expecting."

"Usual reply?" Ginny said. She and Harry had decided during her second year a particular course of action to the rumors floating around Hogwarts about them. She still cursed the fact that she'd caught the flu which then developed into pneumonia her first day back her second year. She was sure the rumors wouldn't have gotten out of hand if she hadn't been sick.

"Pretended that I had no idea what you might be expecting," Harry said, spearing a sausage. "After all, you're my best friend's 'annoying little sister,' and Ron and I don't talk about you." Then with a smirk he continued. "All of which is of course, true, but not the whole truth, as usual."

"You know, sometime I'm going to have to look up that simulated pregnancy spell," Ginny said. "I think this is like the sixteenth or seventeenth time they have done that one."

"I think the count is much higher than that," Harry said. "You have to be the second most common target of rumors at Hogwarts."

"Nah, I think Dumbledore and you both surpass me, and probably Parkinson does too," Ginny said, as she was handed her schedule. Looking at it briefly, she shuddered. "Potions first."

"Better you than me," Harry replied. "And don't look now, but the gossips are leaving en masse."


	2. Class with Umbridge

Take No Umbridge II: The Serious Side

_Author's Note: This scene took a lot longer than it should have. I'd like to thank dougysue and Jonas on CaerAzkaban for some key corrections._

**Class with Umbridge **

Harry Potter trudged into Defense Against the Dark Arts. If what he'd heard thus far was true, he wasn't looking forward to this class. Professor Umbridge was seated behind her desk, wearing a pink jacket over a lighter shade of pink blouse. She had a kitten brooch above her left chest, and black velvet bow in her hair. As she sat there, watching everyone file in, she took a sip from a steaming hot cup of tea.

Then, with her hands folded in front of her, she said, "Well, good afternoon."

Harry, along with a few other members of his class mumbled back, "good afternoon."

"Tut, tut," Professor Umbridge said. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply, 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class."

With that, Harry immediately classified Umbridge as a sickening sweet, more for the form than knowledge, teacher. "Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," he joined the class in saying.

"There, now," Umbridge said in the same sickeningly sweet tone. "That wasn't difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

This was not promising. Harry shoved his wand back into his bag and pulled out his quill, ink, and parchment. He could hear some mumbling around him, surprisingly more of it coming from the Slytherin part of the room. He looked up, spotting Professor Umbridge pulling her unusually short wand out of her handbag and tapping the blackboard sharply. A heading appeared on the board.

Defense Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles

"Well, now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" Professor Umbridge stated as she turned to face the class, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

Umbridge rapped the blackboard again, and the first message vanished and was replaced. As it appeared, Harry felt growing concern.

Course aims:

1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

As Harry copied down those words, his concern rose. It had been barely a month since the ministry put him on trial. He'd barely gotten off, and he knew that Professor Umbridge had been one of the ones who voted for his conviction. He was sure of it now, this woman had it in for him.

"Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmer. It was a required book, so Harry had no idea why any student wouldn't. Ron's copy was a battered first edition dating from 1940. Hermione had said it was a shame it was in that condition.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge,' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang throughout the room.

"Good," Professor Umbridge said. "I should like you to turn to read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."

Harry had been using chapter one instead of counting sleep since he'd first opened the book. He opened to the page, and absently noted that he'd gotten a bit of drool the page. He was strongly considering Madam Marchbanks' offer. If this was a sample of her teaching, he knew he'd learn absolutely nothing from her. If there was one thing Harry knew it was that he couldn't afford a class where he learnt absolutely nothing. Fortunately, he'd put last year's book in his bag.

As he reached down to get the other book, he noticed that Hermione had not even opened the book. He looked at her, and she shook her head slightly. He altered his action, and pulled out the list of books that Professor Lupin had given him as well. It was the list of all the books that all the professors of Defense Against the Dark Arts had ordered for all years during Mooney's years at Hogwarts, plus the years that Harry had been at Hogwarts. The latter Harry had added the previous night.

Harry opened last year's book on top of the book that Professor Umbridge had chosen, and then started to look down the list. As he did so, he noticed that half the class wasn't reading. Instead they were looking at him and Hermione.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, why aren't you reading the book I assigned?" Umbridge asked, when it became impossible to ignore.

Harry decided to let Hermione answer first. "I've read the book. I've got a query about your course aims." Hermione had a particular expression her face that he was sure he'd seen before.

"Well, we're reading just now, but I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully." Professor Umbridge's voice sounded full of faked sweetness.

"Well, I don't," Hermione said bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

The whole class was now silent, staring up at the board. Everyone of them started to frown.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "I can't imagine any situation arising in my class that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked in class."

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron ejaculated loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr?"

"Weasley," Ron said, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge turned her back on Ron. Harry knew that was a bad idea. You didn't turn your back on a Weasley that you had offended, and Ron looked offended. Harry rose his own hand, and so did Hermione. Professor Umbridge's eyes lingered on Harry for a moment. "Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," Hermione said. Harry was beginning to classify her expression. He thought he'd last seen that expression at the near the end of second year. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her false sweet voice.

"No, but —" He had it now. Hermione's expression was the same as the one that she'd had in the last days of Professor Lockhart's class.

"Well then, I'm afraid that you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised ... yes Mister Potter?

Apparently Harry's glare and raised hand had finally gotten to the Professor. "I'm afraid Hermione is right. Per Hogwarts charter of classes, Defense Against the Dark Arts is the study of and practical application of spells to defend against the dark arts. In particular, the International Standard, and the Wizarding Examination Authority expects that by the end of the first term, we shall be proficient in several defensive spells, including several introduced this year, such as Protego. Of course, that's not the real problem that I personally have with your class. My problem is that this book of yours was last used in 1974, this same edition, as the first year text book. It's so boring that I'm using it as a sleep aid."

Harry didn't think that Professor Umbridge had expected him to answer that way. In fact, she seemed to be speechless. The facts he'd learnt in the last few days, since his visit from Madam Marchbanks, about the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts, had been a bit disturbing actually. No professor lasting more than a year since 1950 something ... he continued as it didn't seem that Professor Umbridge had a response.

"I need a professor to teach me in this class, preferably without having a plan to kill me. After all, this is the class that's supposed to teach me how to defend myself, and thus far I have had to defend myself against a Professor with a Dark Lord in the back of his head, a basilisk, a werewolf and a hoard of dementors, and survive a tournament designed for wizards with three more years of education. So, my question is, are you going to teach me to defend myself from say, Voldemort, or not."

"Voldemort is not back!" Professor Umbridge said. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"I stand by all my previous statements, though I didn't actually say that Voldemort was back this time," Harry said. "He has been behind three out of four of the major issues I've experienced since I came to Hogwarts, and he is back."

"Detention, tonight at eight!" Umbridge ordered.

Harry picked up his bookbag, and slid his books into it. "I shall be there, Madame Umbridge, but I don't think I shall be back in this classroom, as long as you teach in it." The room was so quiet that Harry was sure he head a pin drop. Umbridge's face was turning more purple than his Uncle Vernon's ever did.

Harry stepped out into the aisle, and turned away from the fuming professor. As he began to exit, Hedwig flew into the classroom. Circling Harry once as he walked out, she landed on his outstretched arm. "Hedwig, I think I'm going to have a letter for you to take," Harry said as he swung the door closed behind him.

...

_Compliments, Complaints, Comments, Corrections, and Critique eagerly accepted. Longer comments and questions may even get a response, especially on weekends and holidays._

_Ron's paragraph comes directly from the book.  
_


	3. Letter to Marchbanks

**Letter to Marchbanks**

Harry Potter was glad for the supply of good parchment and ink kept in the ground room of the owlery. It was provided, especially during the first week of school, mainly for the first years. Harry had never really needed to use it, but Professor McGonagall had told him about it at the beginning of his first year.

Harry was rather frugal when it came to his own parchment purchases. He didn't buy the really cheap stuff, anymore. That had been a lesson learned. He didn't buy the really expensive stuff, either. He bought perfectly serviceable parchment and ink. For this particular letter, he wanted to send it with the good stuff. So he had pulled out a single foot long piece from the drawer, and very carefully wrote out his letter, signing it with his best signature.

Harry didn't like signing things. He didn't think being the boy-who-lived should mean that his signature was worth something. Still, he had learnt that when did sign his name for someone, it should be clearly readable. Hermoine had shown him a lot of signatures when things came to a head with Lockhart in his second year. He wanted his to be as clear as that of John Hancock, when he did it for a purpose. This was one of those times.

As he made sure the ink was dry before folding it, he recalled the first time he'd actually willingly signed something for someone. It was during the summer before his third year, when he'd spent most of it in Diagon Alley. It was for a little curly haired strawberry blond toddler, whose favorite dolly, a Harry Potter doll, which Harry had many issues with, had been torn apart by her big brother.

There had been something about the crying little girl who had run into Harry that had tugged at him. He'd never quite figured out what had possessed him to kneel down and comfort the little girl. It wasn't like he was used to such things, but he had. He'd got her to stop crying. The doll was destroyed, and he was quite happy about that. By the time the little girl's mother, who was sheparding around a brood larger than Mrs. Weasley's, finally caught up with Harry, he'd somehow ended up promising to sign her new dolly's cape.

He hadn't done the best of jobs signing it.

He hadn't signed anything else like it since. Today he signed his letter though, like he should have signed the dolly's cape. It looked dry enough now, so he folded it carefully, and went back outside to ascend to the top of the owlery where he knew that Hedwig was waiting.

As he turned the corner and was about to start up the stairs, he ran into Ginny Weasley. Fortunately it wasn't a literal impact, as she managed to stop, and step to the side. "Harry, what are you doing here?" she asked. "Your year had Defense for the next half hour still."

"I'm about to send a letter that will allow me to exit Defense for the rest of my Hogwarts career," Harry said, with a big smile. "With an Outstanding NEWT, to boot, thanks to Madam Marchbanks and the Triwizard Tournament"

"At least something good came out of that class, but Harry, are you sure you want to waste your free NEWT on Defense?" Ginny asked. "It's your best class."

"You knew I had a free NEWT?" Harry said. "I had to be approached by Madam Marchbanks to find out, but you knew?"

"I thought you knew," Ginny said, leaning up against the outer wall of the tower. "I spent a good deal of time trying to convince my older twits of brothers that they shouldn't be trying to get around the protections. You were the first fourteen year old to get through the first task alive. In the last twenty times, two thirds of the champions got injured, half of them fatally. I had to know every reason they might want to do it to refute them. Then after that attempt to cross the age line, I kept having nightmares that they'd find some other way. I even went to Professor Dumbledore to make sure the ways I thought of were blocked."

"I wish he found a way to stop however my name got in the goblet," Harry said. There were still people who thought he had put his name in. "I'm not sure how it got there, but it had to involve Barty Crouch junior."

"Oh, that's easy, there was one exception to the must put their own name in rule," Ginny said, almost causally, her hand going up to play with her hair. "Drumstrang insisted that their Defense Professor be allowed to put in some names that might not be able to put their own names in due to some other event. It couldn't be made to be just for one school, so the other two could as well. Hermione and I found out about that right after the First Task."

"Oh that explains it," Harry said, suddenly feeling exasperated at the ways fate seemed to conspire against him. He had figured that there wasn't a put your own name in rule, after he had been chosen. "An exception designed so the one position in all of Hogwarts that seems to be cursed to try to kill me, could do so again. I have to wonder how Umbridge is going to try to do so."

"I know about your second year, and last year, but I didn't think it was every year," Ginny said.

"Yeah," Harry said. As he looked at Ginny, he realized that he'd never talked to Ginny about what had happened her first year, his second year. The image of her body, laying there with Tom Riddle gloating over it still haunted his dreams. If he didn't have to go send the letter ...

As if answering his thoughts, Hedwig landed on the railing, and raised her claw for the letter. As he attached it, he said. "Since I'm done here, if you'd like to hear about it, I'll tell you the tale of the four, maybe five soon, Defense Professors that tried to kill me."

He turned to look at Ginny, as she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Why not. I don't have another class for another forty-five minutes."

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

_Remember this story will cover time line wise from the beginning of Take no Umbridge I to the end of Harry's fifth year. At this point we are not yet past to chapter one of Take no Umbridge I, and are not likely to reach it until after the next part._

_As usual, compliments, comments, correction, complaints, and critique are accepted eagerly ... just not requests for more soon, which will make the muse go slower._


	4. Detention with Dolores

_**Author's Note**__: Sorry for the delay on this part. It's actually been ready since the fifth but I missed posting it due to my weekends being taken up by basketball._

* * *

**Detention with Dolores**

On his way to his detention with Professor Umbridge, Harry dropped the letter he'd just received in reply on Professor McGonagall's desk. He'd been surprised how quickly Madam Marchbanks had returned his letter with a notice of NEWT grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts. To his disappointment, McGonagall didn't open it immediately, only noting that he better get to his detention.

When he opened the door to Professor Umbridge's office, the cloying scent of her perfume wafted out. With renewed confidence and the knowledge that he'd already attended his last class with her, he spoke first. "Before we start Professor Umbridge, I have a question," Harry said. "Why did the Ministry chose you? I could not find your name on any of the Outstanding OWL or NEWT lists, and even Lockhart had at least two Outstanding NEWTs. Charms and Potions, not defense, but still, two Oustandings."

"The Minister chose me, and I do not have to explain why to a liar like you," Professor Umbridge "Now you will find my special quill and parchment before you. Copy down 'I must not tell lies.'"

Harry sat down and reached into his bookbag to retrieve his ink well.

"You will not need any ink," Umbridge said.

"How many times," Harry asked.

"Oh, long enough for it to sink in," Umbridge replied.

Harry started to write the sentence, and felt a deep pain in his hand. He ignored it. He knew he just had to survive this detention and he would never have to worry about Umbridge's class again. It was like dealing with his Uncle Vernon, protesting about it hurting never got you anywhere. He looked at his hand, and the sentence was starting to appear on it's back.

He copied down the line twelve times in his own blood, before the door opened revealing Professor McGonagall. She had a single piece of paper. "Dolores, I have a small update to your rolls," she began, and then went silent, her eyes seeming to focus on Harry's hand. Her lips formed a thin straight line and her glare transferred itself from Harry's hand to Umbridge.

"Mr. Potter, your detention is over," McGonagall ordered. "Report to the Hospital Wing so Madam Pomfrey can look at that hand."

Harry looked up at her. Her orders had him flabbergasted. He was sure that her orders were unprecedented.

"Now, Mr. Potter."

Harry scrambled to collect his stuff and exit Professor Umbridge's office. As the door shut behind him, he heard Professor McGonagall begin, "In all my time ..." He was sure that Umbridge was getting a lecture from McGonagall, and had absolutely no idea why.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ Starting with the next chapter I will actually be even with _Take no Umbridge I_. So the next part will be "Side Effects of the Triwizard" from Harry's Point of View._

* * *

_The following omake scene didn't fit with the plot and is part of the reason why this part is so short. _

He copied down the line twelve times in his own blood, before the door opened revealing Professor McGonagall. She had a single piece of paper. "Dolores, I have a small update to your rolls," she began, and then went silent, her eyes seeming to focus on Harry's hand. Her lips formed a thin straight line and her glare transferred itself from Harry's hand to Umbridge. She draw her wand. A silver cat exited from it's tip, as she looked at Harry.

"Mr. Potter, put down the quill," Professor McGonagall ordered. "Dolores Umbridge, in my days at Hogwarts, I have never seen such an abhorrent violation of the law towards one of my students. Perfectus Totalus!" Umbridge had moved towards Harry. "I think you shall be spending some time with the ministry tonight. Making a student use an illegal blood quill ... Mr. Potter, I have summoned the Aurors. These quills are not to be used for anything other than signing contracts, and they certainly are not supposed to punishing students...

_This is the only preserved of the many attempts to write this scene that I saved. Since this story parallels _Take no Umbrige I_, I could not use it and had to cut out what didn't fit._


	5. Last Prize of the Triwizard

Take no Umbridge II: The Serious Side

Chapter Version 1.0

_**Revised Author's Note**_

_Some have complained about the shortness of the prior part. Due to those complaints and others, the first five parts are being revised before new material is presented. Someone did a real good job of convincing me that I was missing something that my betas knew of but wasn't showing. At this time chapter 1 has received the first part of it's revision._

* * *

**The Last Prize of the Triwizard**

Harry Potter was savoring his supper. Not having had to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts had left him with just Charms after lunch. It was on the Summoning Charm, and Professor Flitwick had dismissed him early due to his demonstrated proficiency with it.

Today's supper included one of his personal favorites, tomato soup. It had been served at one of the first lunches he'd had at Hogwarts. Ron had insisted he try it, instead of sticking with the more traditional items, and ever since first year he'd learnt to savor it. Today the elves had provided french bread sticks, which Harry was using to sop up the last of his second bowl, as Professor Umbridge burst through the door.

Harry smiled as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor stalked through the Great Hall to where he sat at the middle of the Gryffindor table. In Gryffindor, the center of the table was the position of honor. After his forth year, no one denied him that right.

"Mister Potter, detention in my office tonight," Umbridge ordered, her face red. He'd never really seen a teacher that mad.

As calmly as Harry could, he met the eyes of the woman whose class room he would never have to enter again. "May I ask why?"

"You skipped class today," Umbridge said, as if it was perfectly obvious. It was not.

"Sorry, I'm not taking Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore," Harry said flatly. "I'm sure the Deputy Headmistress corrected your rolls this morning." He tried to keep the joy he felt at that statement out of his voice, but he wasn't quite sure he'd done so.

"It is a required course, you are expected to attend," Umbridge bristled. "Unless you are on your death bed, I expect you in class."

"You're teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to those up to those taking their NEWTs this year, right?" Harry said calmly. The thought crossed his mind that Defense Against the Dark Arts professors were likely to be the cause of him being on his death bed. Umbridge nodded back at him. "Well, there is the problem."

"What problem?" Umbridge said. She looked at him with a glare that could set fire if it lasted long enough.

Harry was not intimidated. He took a sip of his glass of pumpkin juice before continuing. "You know last year I was the Triwizard Champion?" Umbridge nodded. "Well, it turns out that winning the tournament out right gives you one NEWT out right, and the right to be tested for your NEWTs at your convenience, one at a time or all at once if I want to. I chose to ask for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Madame Marchbanks was happy to give it to me with an Outstanding. She said I probably qualified for Charms too, so I'm thinking of taking that one around Christmas. Hermione is already making me a study schedule."

"What!" Harry looked at the expression on Umbridge's face, making sure that he committed the whole thing to memory. The particular mixture of shock, surprise, and anger was unique, and he wanted to be able to describe it later. Her mouth had dropped open, her eyes widened, and eyebrows headed up towards her hair line. Her face, once red, was losing it's color.

"So, Professor, I'm done with your course," Harry said with a smile. "In fact, I now have better qualifications to teach the course than you do. Professor Dumbledore thinks that teaching is a good activity for those that defeated Dark Lords to do, so since I surpass you in the subject, and thus the Ministry's requirements, I'm thinking of applying for the job at some point."

Professor Umbridge remained there, mouth opened, as Harry finished the last piece of bread. She said nothing as he stood and left the room. He had transfiguration homework, and it wouldn't do to turn it in late for Professor McGonagall's class. After all, she'd been so helpful since he'd gotten the letter from Madam Marchbanks.

* * *

_Next Up: Something not covered in TnU1, and the beginning of some perception vs reality issues._


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